Curmudgeonly

31 Jan

I feel curmudgeonly. Like going to a restaurant, ordering water, and complaining about the atmosphere. Shaking my hand in the traffic. Writing a very angry letter to my governor about the uneven sidewalk I came across during my morning grumble walk. Stooping, and looking down at my own hands, and getting irritated if anybody runs into me. I feel like telling each and every person I come across what’s wrong with them and exactly what they need to do to fix it. Having a spite journal where I write people’s names down and circle and star them over a set of infractions so complicated that I can only comprehend it. Complaining about everything being too loud.

I don’t want to do these things, that’s why I’m writing them. I want every loudly smacked, globbed, cudded, chomped piece of gum in the world to fall into gumchewer hair. I want places that I dislike to have distinctly uncomfortable weather. Midges. Wet spot at the small of the back. Needlerain.

I want to personally spank everybody who I have seen on television who has wasted my time in one way or other. I want every advertisement that annoys me to cause impotence.

SOUR MOODY BLECK AND BOIL! Oh goodness I am a frenzied little curse-devil tonight. Best be on my way then!!!

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